After the Rain
by Eninaj
Summary: How life would have continued the day after the food fair if it hadn't been for the accident.
1. Chapter 1

As the sun rose above the Wicklow mountains one Thursday morning, it took with it the last of the previous night's rain. The air was full of the aroma of damp earth, everything fresh and new. Another new dawn was beginning in the lives of two residents in the small town of Ballykissangel.

Peter Clifford woke early, unusually refreshed, as if the retreating storm had lifted his troubles with it. It took him a moment to register why the familiar morning sinking feeling had failed to kick him in the guts today, but as the memories of the previous day flooded back, a broad smile spread slowly across his face and used muscles that had lately been out of use. Situated as he was, most uncomfortably, on the couch where he'd been sleeping since Brian Quigley had appropriated his bed, he felt the need to stretch and iron out the kinks that had taken residence in his neck. There was no incentive to stay in bed on such a morning as this when the day, and life, held so much promise.

Having made himself tea, he looked over at the telephone. Some big calls were going to be necessary in the near future. Then an idea came to him. Should he? No. Would he do it anyway? He chewed his lip as he considered, then grabbed the receiver and dialled the familiar number before he had time to think better of it. Peter's days of resisting temptation were done.

Further down the street, sleeping comfortably buried among white bedclothes, Assumpta Fitzgerald was not yet in the land of the living. She was deep in a much needed dreamless sleep. So deep, in fact, that the phone rang several times before its persistent hectoring, dragged her forcefully into the waking world. She glanced blearily at her bedside clock: 06:45. Who the hell calls at that hour in the morning? Groaning, she made an attempt to pick up the receiver but only succeeded in knocking it onto the floor. A tinny voice was whispering upwards...."hello? Hello?"

She made no attempt to hide her displeasure. "This had better be good!"

"Good morning!" said Peter, far too brightly in her opinion.

"Oh my God," she said " you're a morning person aren't you? The relationship is doomed, the deal is off..."

"Assum..."

"No wait! I've got it! Someone needs the last rites and you need a lift again, nothing ever changes..."

In spite of her words, she was actually smiling. Peter could hear it in her cadence.

"I do have a good reason." he said "I missed you and I wanted to hear your voice."

She was gratified but unwilling to let him know it. "Oh come on, you'll have to do better than that if we're..." she tailed off.

"If we're what?" He was grinning.

She side-stepped, "You were far more poetic yesterday. Sure didn't you have a job that involved composing long monologues?"

"I still do. I have to say mass at 8."

They were both silent for a moment. It wasn't just reality hitting home, and it hadn't really occurred to Assumpta before that Peter's decision couldn't take instant effect, but it was an echo of a conversation they'd had over a year ago, late at night, after clearing up the bar, over two glasses of wine. If Peter hadn't gulped his down, he'd have been re-christened with it. The memory if it lingered in the ether between them. Unspoken. But understood. Like so many of their conversations had been.

Peter broke the silence. "I'm sorry I ran away that night. Maybe you were right. We should have talked. If we had, perhaps things would have happened differently. We could have saved ourselves a lot of anguish." He was thinking of Leo as well as themselves. Guilt had largely displaced the unbidden jealousy in Peter's mind as he thought of Leo now. Leo's crime had not been to love the woman that Peter longed for. How could he not. How could anyone who knew her not? No, his crime was to be hers when Peter could not. To be loved by her, to know her in every way that Peter could not. But Peter knew now, that Leo had not had it all, the greatest prize, her heart, was his alone. How must Leo feel now. Used? Cheated? Betrayed? Peter and Assumpta were both responsible for his hurt. Their good intentions had certainly paved Leo's path to hell. And what had Assumpta told him?

She broke his reverie now. "Or you might just have left the parish to save yourself from temptation! There's no use worrying over what might have been, especially when we're so happy now."

A wave of pleasure broke over Peter. She was happy, and he had made her so.

"Seriously though," she continued, curiosity getting the better of her "if you'd given me a real answer that night instead of fobbing me off?..."

Peter blushed and then heard Brian stirring overhead. "I'd love to tell you, but I can't risk being overheard. I hear my landlord awakening." he said by way of explanation.

"OK, I'll let you off for now. Will I be seeing you later on?"

"Try keeping me away! But after mass I have to have a word with Fr Mac."

She knew what conversation that would be and it made her nervous. She tried not to make it obvious though.

"That'll be fun for you. How d'you think he'll react?"

"He won't be surprised, but I doubt that'll prevent him from venting his spleen in my general direction one last time."

"You tell him from me, that if I don't get you back in one piece and if he even thinks of sending you on retreat again I will personally hunt him down and shove that collar down his throat! Better still, I'll shove your collar down his throat, since you won't be needing it again."

"Thanks Assumpta, I'm sure that will help to smooth things over."

"My pleasure, and if you need any more training in diplomacy, there's much more where that came from."

"Don't I know it!.... Don't worry, it's only a formality really, we spoke yesterday afternoon and he's probably guessed what side of the fence I've landed. I suspect he's not the only one either."

Assumpta didn't like that. "What d'you mean? People know? Who knows?!!"

"The dogs on the street.... Morning Brian, hope I didn't wake you."

Brian Quigley approached down the stairs. Dressed in a large, luxurious dressing gown, somewhat incongruous with his modest surroundings, he wore a stern expression but had a twinkle in his eye. He suspected he knew what he was overhearing. The curate was looking a bit shifty and rather red in the face. And hadn't he been looking pleased with himself last night? Surely it wasn't just his delight at winning the cup at the Chinese food fair! This kidder was not to be kidded.

The object of Brian's interest was now smiling a very un-priestly, self-conscious smile as he listened to some sort of tirade on the other end of line. "Yeah, yeah OK... I'll remember that... yeah I will, that _was_ all I wanted to say.... later. Bye."

"How is she?"

"Who?" Slightly alarmed and blushing furiously.

"Have it your way." Brian hid his twinkling eyes by turning his back. If there was going to be change in this village, so be it. Change may be bad for business but in compensation there was some entertainment to be had from torturing the Priest in the mean time.

* * *

Assumpta wriggled with delight. Most unlike herself, and then buried her face in her pillow to let out an excited squeak. It had been worth being awakened that early! She still couldn't believe it. He loved her.

He loved her, and he loved her enough to give up being a priest, to sacrifice his vocation. She had never expected it, dreamed of it, certainly, but only idle dreams of the impossible, like winning the lottery or discovering a long lost relative has left you a castle in his will. But, like winning the lottery, this life changing event brought a whole new set of troubles with it.

She had "seduced" the Priest. That's what people would think. And not just any Priest, Father Peter Clifford, everyone's best friend, well loved, trusted, relied upon. It was selfish of her to want him for herself. But, she reasoned, she would have been willing to share him, it was the church that was not, and she had never encouraged him to quit, it was his own decision. Even now, after he had bared his soul, she had only hinted to him how she felt and she had yet to kiss him. Both could wait until Father Peter was just Peter. Just hers. She wondered anxiously how long that would take

She got out from under her covers and went over to the mirror and looked at herself for a long moment. She looked tired but slightly flushed. She wondered if anyone would notice the change in her demeanour or if they already had. How had she become this person? When had she fallen so totally in love, with a priest of all people, that she was absolutely reliant on him for her happiness? That was a truth she recognised now. How much of her bad temper, her sniping, her baiting of Peter in particular, since he arrived in the village, had been due to her frustrated ardour? And how fervently would she have denied it had anyone dared to suggest it to her.

Peter sighed, today was not going quite according to plan. He'd been waylaid by a string of parishioners after morning mass, each with a question or request more bizarre than the last. Eamonn was after a repeat blessing for his pigs and, for some reason, wanted to know if there was a patron saint of sheep. Liam and Donal had each been in, looking shifty, asking criptic, hypothetical questions about some telephone in the shape of a bag of fries. And to cap it all, Kathleen had cornered him in the street and launched into a long and overly complex discussion of the politics of St. Joseph's flower arranging rota.

As he stood, helplessly trying to placate the aggrieved shop keeper, he thought how this was really only par for the course for a morning in Ballykissangel, but he was more than a little preoccupied this morning, and a little voice in his head was whispering that this really wasn't his problem any more. As his thoughts drifted and Kathleen's voice droned on.... no, droned wasn't quite the word, it was more of a persistent rattle.... he caught sight, in his peripheral vision, of a familiar figure stepping out of the doorway of Fitzgerald's. For once she wasn't working, just standing, soaking up the sunlight, her hair moving gently with the breeze...

"...Father, Father! Are you even listening to me? I want this taken seriously. I'll have a word with Father MacAnally about this..."

Father Mac. The name brought Peter swiftly back to attention. He needed to have a word with the man himself. With a sense of unease, Peter noted Kathleen's eyes dart to Assumpta and then back to himself. The woman had a sixth sense for gossip and he could see two and two being put together behind her eyes. He started to wonder exactly what "this" she was planning to report to Father Mac. A mixture of righteous indignation and something like glee were now jostling for position on the woman's face, reflecting the distinctly guilty expression now registering on the curate's. 'The cat that got the cream', thought Peter, remembering Padraig's dig at him the night before. Kathleen's appetite for gossip would soon be feeding on the juiciest morsel imaginable, the scandal of the Priest and the Publican.

"I'm sorry Kathleen, will you excuse me, I need to...." he gestured aimlessly in any direction that wasn't Fitzgerald's... he seemed to be pointing at the post office. Thank goodness, that was plausible, just about. "I need to.....buy some stamps!"

Kathleen raised a sceptical eyebrow at him as he retreated towards the post office's green facade and then looked again at where Assumpta had been only a moment ago. She'd be having a word with Father Mac alright!

Assumpta sighed as she stepped back into the relative gloom of her bar. The lights were still playing up. No amount of messing about with the damn fuse was going to fix it and she'd had a bit of a fright when she saw the electricity arc in the dark of the cellar last night. She had an uneasy feeling she'd had a narrow escape.

It wasn't actually the fuse that was making her sigh, it was the tall Englishman currently getting an ear bashing from Kathleen Hendley a short distance up the street.

She couldn't get him out of her head. Not that she was actually trying to any more. And he was out there this minute, still wearing that damn uniform. She felt like running to him, throwing her arms around him and kissing him soundly for all the world to see. Instead she leant back on the door and closed her eyes. He'd be here later. She'd waited more than 2 years, what was a few more hours, possibly even only minutes?

She was startled by a knock on the other side of the door. Delighted, she whirled around and opened it flashing the most radiant smile at.... Niamh. Unconsciously, her face fell.

"Well that's nice! Don't look so pleased to see me." Said Niamh, a little indignantly.

"Niamh I..."

"Expecting someone else were we?" said Niamh pointedly and she threw a look at her friend, one designed to look casual but poorly covering her attempt to read Assumpta's expression.

Assumpta turned around to hide her face and wandered over to the bar. "Oh you know me, just hoping for a stray electrician willing to fix the lights in exchange for nothing more than a glass of stout and a sandwich."

Niamh was frustrated. She just knew Assumpta was being evasive about something. Assumpta being evasive was nothing new, of course, but she'd been getting harder and harder to read lately and increasingly erratic in her behaviour. That whole debacle with Leo and the instant wedding was a case in point. And Niamh was hurt, very hurt, that her best friend would not confide in her and she was worried, too, that there might actually be a good reason for it. She decided to let it drop, for now, again. Mind you, Assumpta did seem different today, and that brief smile had been more than a little unusual.

Assumpta was a little unnerved at Niamh's silence. Did she suspect? Had she come to carry out an interrogation? She took hold of the bar behind her as if it offered moral support.

"What can I do for ya Niamh?"

"I just wanted to check we're all sorted for Saturday."

"Saturday?"

"Kieran's christening."

"Oh, yeah, yeah of course." Oh God, she'd forgotten. Kieran's christening, the event of Niamh's year, the occasion that she had so specifically wanted Peter to officiate at, that she'd had planned, for months, in regimented detail. Christ, she was even naming the child after said priest! The soon-to-be-ex-priest.

Her face must have been giving her away because Niamh began again, "You do understand don't you? About not being the God mother? It's just with the way you feel about the church..."

"It's fine Niamh, really, like I said before, I'd make a lousy God mother. You made the right choice."

"You're sure? You're not just saying that? Only from the look on your face..."

"I'm sure, I fully intend to be a thoroughly bad influence on him and being his Godmother would cramp my style."

"Then what...?"

"It's nothing. Honestly."

Niamh was not convinced. She looked searchingly at Assumpta. There it was again, that brick wall, closing her off. Assumpta hadn't always been like this had she? She racked her brain for a memory of when Assumpta had become so secretive. It must have been a couple of years at least.

Assumpta shifted uncomfortably under Niamh's contemplative gaze. "Anyway, this christening. Want to go over the details for the catering again?"


	2. Chapter 2

The phrase "I deserve time off in purgatory for this!" drifted across Father MacAnally's mind, and not for the first time that day. The bright sunlight filtering through the windows of his office did not match his current mood. Sitting primly across the desk from him, clutching handbag on her lap and sporting her old fashioned hat, was his most loyal supporter: Kathleen Hendley.

He listened with, he thought, the patience of a saint, to today's list of complaints about his young curate. He kept his face neutral, an expression he'd practised over many years. Only an occasional twitch of his lips might give him away today. It wasn't as if he even liked the man. He was stubborn, insubordinate and lacking in respect for his superiors. He was prone to bouts of ill temper, he was pedantic, he was annoyingly pious – even for a priest, he pushed his opinions when Father Mac believed he should be listening deferentially, he drew attention to himself in a way that was unbecoming to a curate, and he was inexplicably popular. Too popular. Especially with certain young women.

Still, on this particular day, it was in Father Mac's interests to protect Father Clifford from his accuser.

"I'm afraid I don't follow you Kathleen. What exactly are you accusing my curate of? Buying stamps?"

"Buying stamps in a suspicious manner!"

"Buying stamps in a suspicious manner?"

"Yes, I don't think he wanted stamps at all. I think he caught sight of Mrs McGarvey up the street. There's definitely something going on between those two. It's a scandal that's what it is! And him only a young priest from England, they ought to be ashamed of themselves!"

Kathleen was dead on the mark, Father Mac reflected, but she was also a notorious gossip. She may have the church's best interests at heart but in this case she was in danger of endangering them.

"And you got all this from stamps?" Asked the old priest, taking care to sound incredulous.

"Yes Father, that and his lack of concentration."

"Lack of concentration? Well, Kathleen, Father Clifford has just lost his mother, did you consider that perhaps he just had a lot on his mind this morning, and actually needed to buy some stamps?"

"He has a lot on his mind Father, but his mother, God rest her soul, wasn't it."

"What makes you say that?"

"The expression on his face, Father, he looked happy, and then guilty!"

The man's face did tend to give him away. He needed to practise the inscrutable look if he had any intention of remaining a priest.

"This is a very serious accusation Kathleen, far too serious to be made based on 'looking guilty' and 'buying stamps suspiciously' alone. I will have a word with Father Clifford about the flower arrangement rota and I will keep an eye on him myself, but in the mean time I would be most grateful if you keep your suspicions to yourself. Ideas like these can take on a life of their own, and before we know it the town could be crawling with journalists and reputation of the whole parish could be at stake!"

"Yes Father, Of course Father."

"Is that everything Kathleen?"

"Yes thank you Father."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	3. Chapter 3

Carmel Power stood sullenly by while Padraig O'Kelly prodded about underneath her car's bonnet. She was in no mood to be stranded in this sleepy backwater. Sleepy backwaters weren't generally hotbeds of scandal and intrigue in her experience and where there was no scandal and intrigue there was nothing to write about. She imagined the headline: "Sheep hit by Priest's car", no, she'd put money on nothing that exciting having happened around here in the last hundred years.

That mechanic was a grumpy old goat of a man, she thought, but at least he'd stopped singing now.

"So what's the verdict?"

"I'll have to get the parts from Cilldargan."

"How long will that take?"

Padraig shrugged. "A few hours. It'll be sorted today with a bit of luck."

"And what am I supposed to do until then?"

Padraig was unconcerned by her ill humour. "Get a spot of lunch? Admire the view? You could try Fitzgerald's."

"Is there a good view to be had in there?"

"If you like the look of a glass of stout there is."

Assumpta clambered out of the cellar once again. The fuse box was dead, there was no reviving it this time. She'd have to get Peter to give it the last rights.

An involuntary shiver ran through her, like someone was walking on her grave. The memory of that electrical arc flashed through her mind for an instant. She shook it off, along with the dust on her palms.

"What can I do for you?"

She directed the question at the woman standing just inside the door. A stranger. Quite smart. Looking a bit fed up.

"Do you do food?"

"I can do you a sandwich. My electrics are shot so I'm afraid that's about all I can offer today."

The woman didn't hide her disdain all that well. "Ham and lettuce then?"

"Right you are." said Assumpta, retreating into the kitchen.

* * *

Brendan Kearney leaned his bicycle up against the pub's façade and sauntered jovially through its entrance. He nodded amicably at the pub's other occupant and then looked enquiringly around at the light fittings.

"Assumpta!" he yelled.

A muffled "What?" filtered through the closed door to the kitchen.

"Your lights are out."

"Really? I hadn't noticed. Any other complaints?"

"Service is slow too."

"Well you know where you can go if you don't like it here." She answered grinning as she emerged from the kitchen carrying a plate of freshly made ham and lettuce sandwiches, which she placed in front of Carmel.

"Peaking Ducks R Us? Good idea, I'll give them a go."

"No, I was thinking of school, don't you have lessons?"

"We're allowed lunch. Get me a glass of stout would you please Assumpta."

"Coming right up."

"Seen much of our friendly local curate today?" Said Brendan innocently.

"No, why would I have?" Replied Assumpta too quickly and to Brendan's amusement.

"Oh, no reason, just wondering."

"Just wondering what?" She spat back crossly.

"I'm concerned for him Assumpta, he's been through a lot lately, losing his Mum and everything."

She was mollified, felt quite guilty in fact, she'd not been thinking much about Peter's mother, what with one thing and another.

"And he did have quite an unusual look on his face last night." Continued Brendan, growing bold and looking Assumpta intently in the eye, hoping to read something there.

Assumpta had quite an unusual look on her face right now. But fortunately for her it was a difficult one to read, even for Brendan.

"No Brendan, I'm sorry, I haven't seen him. D'you want anything with that stout?".

* * *

The river Angel flowed idly by, far calmer than the previous evening, as if the torrential rain had never been. There was only a water mark some way up the stone supports of the bridge to hint at recent drama.

To Peter it seemed at once strangely unchanged and also permanently altered by association with yesterday's events. He felt as if its course should have shifted to mirror the changed course of his own future life, that it should be as marked as he was. Yet here it was, looking just the same, babbling gently as it always had, keeping secret all it had witnessed.

He looked up at the bridge and wondered how many secrets it had shared. The bridge was a favourite spot for many to stand and stare and ponder life's dilemmas. The river was a constant in the turbulent lives of his parishioners. A place to gain perspective perhaps, a place of quiet contemplation, rather like St. Joseph's .

Interesting that he should chose to be here now, instead of at his church.

His church.

Not for much longer.

No, not _his_ church, God's church. Hadn't Father Mac reminded him of that often enough?

He loved that church, and the loss of his connection with it wounded him deeply. A tear came involuntarily to his eye as he grieved for what was lost, what had been and what would not now be. A future, once so certain, was now torn from him, pulled from under him like a rug, and he felt unstable and giddy in its wake. The loss of his Mother too seemed to loosen the bonds which once held him in place. Parentless, he felt untethered, cut away from his roots and free to drift whichever way the breeze took him. He had only one anchor now.

Assumpta.

And wherever she was, he needed to be. How had he ever imagined he could do without her? How bleak a future was an Assumpta-less one? A yawning chasm of nothingness. He shuddered at the mere thought and reminded himself gratefully that this was not the future he now faced.

He kicked idly at the pebbles underfoot and put off those phone calls a little longer as he wandered aimlessly further down the stream.


	4. Chapter 4

"I see. When do you expect him back?" Peter asked Fr Mac's housekeeper, trying to keep the frustration from his voice. He reminded himself it wasn't this poor woman's fault he'd left it so long to phone his boss that he'd missed him altogether.

"No, no. I understand. I'll have to try again later. Thank you Mrs McCourt."

Peter turned from the phone box and looked down the street towards Fitzgerald's. He didn't exactly have a lot to show for his morning's work. Assumpta wouldn't be impressed. She'd probably think he'd changed his mind. He took a deep breath and began walking down the hill. "Nothing suspicious about going to the pub for a late lunch!" he told himself whilst he glanced around nervously, hoping a certain shop keeper was busy with other things.

Further down the street, enjoying a free Chinese meal and oblivious to the anxiety of a certain young curate, sat Father Mac. Brian Quigley eyed him shrewdly but with some resignation. Some "Grand Opening" this had turned out to be. Not a single paying customer. Where were they all? Surely not sitting in the dark at Fitzgerald's!

"Have faith Brian." Said Father Mac, unhelpfully, in Quigley's opinion. "The Good Lord will provide."

"Oh yes? His cheque's in the post is it?"

"Very funny Brian. You're an experienced business man. You know that it sometimes takes time for a plan to come to fruition."

"Could be waiting a very long time when those two are involved." Brian grumbled, gesturing at the slouching forms of Liam and Donal at the back of the room.

"Yes indeed. Whatever happened to my glass of wine?"

"Get yer backsides over here you two!"

The two scruffy waiters wearing laboratory-style white coats on top of their usual gear scrambled to

attention, nearly knocking over a pot plant in the process.

Quigley seethed into his calming jasmine tea.

* * *

Two weeks earlier......

The good doctor let out a long breath as he put down the telephone receiver and leant thoughtfully back into his chair. He pursed his lips and, having considered on it for long enough, grabbed pen and paper and began to copy down a telephone number.

The doctor was a bright, perceptive man and was used to making rapid judgements. He had spoken to Peter Clifford three times since the curate's latest abrupt departure from Ballykissangel. He'd felt concerned the first time Peter left, about the mental health of the young man, but now he had to throw bereavement into the equation and concern had matured into full-blown worry. It was time for some action on his part.

It didn't take much of Michael Ryan's considerable powers of observation to see what had steadily been developing between Assumpta Fitzgerald and the Priest. In the early days it had been quite charming to watch, the couple that could never be, he reflected, and at the time no real cause for anything but amusement. But as time drew on, he began to see that they were both in some torment and totally constrained by their adherence to their individual codes of moral behaviour. Not that he'd have liked them any other way of course.

He had seen them in the field at Kilna Shea by firelight. Leaning close together against Assumpta's blue van. From that distance, an untrained eye would perhaps have observed a pair of lovers kissing goodnight, but Michael knew they were probably only bickering, the nearest thing their circumstances could allow. Perhaps it had been mean of Brendan, Siobhan and himself to leave them alone like that in the field, suspecting how they felt. Peter was hiding his distress badly these days. And, an uneasy prickle of guilt suggested, it might have led directly to Peter's fist withdrawal from the village, on retreat, presumably to get over Assumpta, and Assumpta's subsequent astonishingly sudden marriage and later separation.

On the three occasions Michael had spoken to Peter in the last couple of weeks, the poor man had asked wistfully after Assumpta, almost tumbling over her name. Was she back? Did she seem OK? He was concerned only as a Priest for his parishioner of course, despite the slight crack in his voice and his intense interest in the answers Michael offered. Michael was proud of his own skill at playing along with this charade as if he believed it. An essential doctor's skill, the ability to divine the unspoken truths and the tact to pretend you hadn't. His professional demeanour was never dented, though he might think what he liked in private.

Ultimately It came down to this: in Michael's judgement they were both good people, and they were also his friends. They had done nothing to deserve the predicament they now found themselves in. They never planned to fall in love. He saw himself as the guardian of their physical and mental health (the immortal soul was not his province), and his diagnosis as a medical doctor was that they needed each other. Plain and simple.

So, without hesitation, he folded the scrap of paper and placed it in his pocket.

* * *

Peter had never been a man to wallow in self pity, but even the most positive of natures occasionally sinks into a quagmire of despair and Peter's nature had plenty to test it.

He had watched his beloved Mother, who he had hardly seen in years, deteriorate and die in some considerable discomfort. The intensity of his grief came over him in waves and he felt more alone than ever, even among his family. The close relationship he'd had with his Mum had been an invaluable source of support for a man who spent his life supporting others but who had to remain professionally detached in order to do his job. Even she had not been privy to his feelings regarding a certain barmaid, and the secret had been gnawing away at his insides, bursting to be told. But he could never tell his Mother now. Not in this life.

He was back in Manchester, in the house he grew up in. It was a large enough house, and a large enough family, that he felt he could fade unnoticed into the background. He had retreated to his old room and reverted to childhood, sitting with his bare feet up on his well worn Middlesbrough football club duvet. He had covered his eyes with his arms until the light had faded. And he still sat, not moving a muscle, feeling he had run out of tears.

The knock at the door jolted him into the real world. His sister-in-law was in the room, proffering a telephone and wearing a mildly curious expression. "For you." She said, without offering a hint who it might be. Peter sighed. He didn't want to talk. Sympathy was agonising.

Reluctantly, he held out his hand and said "Thank you", hoping she would leave, but she stood there still, studying him.

He looked away and in a low voice said "Hello?" into the receiver.

"Peter?" said Assumpta.

It was like bright sunlight breaking through the darkness. The warmth of her voice spread over him and he felt himself begin to shake as he breathed "Assumpta!" back to her, like a caress.

The sister-in-law allowed herself a sad smile as she closed the door and left him. He watched her go and then began again.

"Assumpta, are you all right?"

"Am I all right? Peter, you've just lost your Mother! I'm so sorry about your Mother!"

He didn't respond. Was he choking on his words? Was he crying?

"I'm so sorry, Peter, is this a bad time? I shouldn't have called, it was just Michael, he suggested.... he gave me your number.... I'll go. It was stupid of me."

"No! No. Please stay. It's so good to hear your voice.... a voice from home."

Home. There was that word again. "The Englishman's home is his favourite Irish Pub!" Brendan had said.

"I don't know what to say, Peter."

"Just tell me how you are. I've been worried."

"About me?"

"I'm so sorry about Leo."

"About Leo?"

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. I let you down."

She bit her lip. "Peter, will you stop? It's over, there's nothing left to tell." She was beginning to regret calling. This was exquisite pain.

Peter winced, unable to deduce what she was saying was over.

"Peter, when are you coming home?" She tried to sound as if she wasn't that interested in the answer.

"I'm not sure yet. There's still a lot to do, we have to go through Mum's things. It may take a while."

"Don't take too long." she said quietly, "We miss you.... I miss you."

Something approaching a smile wrestled its way onto Peter's face and then closing his eyes, he whispered "I miss you too".

* * *

Two weeks later.....

Doc Ryan spotted a familiar figure striding through Ballykissangel and called from the open window of his car, "Father Clifford! Is that you?"

Peter stopped in his tracks and swerved to offer the doctor a friendly wave and a smile. "It is me, yes. What can I do for you this fine day?" he replied.

"What can you do for me? Ah nothing much, for once, you'll be relieved to hear. I just wanted to congratulate you."

"Congratulate me? What on?"

"Well, first of all, winning the court case, and second of all, the winning Chinese dish! Big day for you yesterday!"

Peter grinned. "You can say that again. Try some did you?"

"The food? I did more than that, I bought it, and very good it was too. Assumpta should hire you as a chef."

"I doubt it, she said my celery was lousy."

"Yeah? When'd she get to try it?"

"Oh, err, I think she was just guessing really."

"Judging a book by its cover was she? Dear dear. Look, I wanted to talk to you anyway, see how you've been. We haven't had a decent chin wag since you got back. Have you got time for a quick lunch?"

Peter glanced over at Fitzgerald's a little uncertainly. It wasn't really Michael's company he wanted today, but, looking back at the good doctor's expectant face he remembered what a good friend and reliable ally he had always been and how valuable such friends are.

"Why not?"


	5. Chapter 5

It was still dark in Fitzgerald's but it didn't seem to be deterring the regulars. They were huddling by the light of the windows, laughing over stout, sandwiches and crisps. She should close really, save Ambrose the trouble of shutting her down for the second time in a week, but she needed the money.

And how could she deny herself the chance to watch Peter, looking so relaxed, so at home, talking to Michael, turning every so often to catch her eye, and then turning away again when wild smiles threatened to break loose and give them away.

She steadily dried glasses as she watched and indulged herself in watching him more closely than she ever had before. Even the back of his head held some interest for her. His hair was curlier than he let it be, so close cropped, but it still twisted here and there, like it had a will of it's own, desperate to be released. She smiled to herself at the thought that it was not so unlike it's owner. She wondered if he'd let it off the leash when he was.

She let out a ragged breath as she imagined herself walking over to his table, planting his drink in front of him and a kiss on his lips while her fingers wove through his fascinating locks....

"If that glass gets any cleaner it'll vanish completely."

"I'm sorry?" Assumpta refocussed on the face of the stranger.

"I'll have another diet coke, thanks.... He's good looking."

Assumpta was startled into speechlessness. She gaped for a moment and then turned away to collect herself and fill a glass for the woman.

She took a deep breath and decided to ignore the comment. "That'll be one fifty please."

The woman rummaged in her purse and began again. "Was it love at first sight?"

"What?" replied Assumpta, her hackles beginning to rise and her level of customer service beginning to lower.

"I bet the girls are just queueing up to confess in this town!"

Assumpta was beginning to see red and Carmel was noting the success of her provocation with keen interest. Assumpta stared hard at Carmel, a look that would have frightened away many a meeker customer but had little effect on this one.

"Who _are_ you?" Assumpta asked levelly, still unblinking, her sixth sense informing her something was seriously up.

"My name is Carmel Power, pleased to meet you Miss... ?" She held out a hand but had to lower it again when it was not accepted. "It's OK if you don't want to tell me. I can read it above the door can't I?"

Assumpta was feeling more and more uneasy about this. By the light of the window she could make out Peter's form twisting in his chair, looking their way, and willed him not to get up and come over.

"I'm with the Enquirer."

"The tabloid"

"Yes, but don't worry, I don't write anything sensational, I just write my observations about everyday lives. I'd like to interview you."

Assumpta leaned forward onto the bar.

"And what exactly brought you to BallyK? What were you planning to observe?"

"I'd like to write about your community, your relationship with the young Priest. English isn't he? An English Priest in rural Ireland! I imagine that put the cat among the pigeons when he first arrived. There must be some wonderful stories." Carmel spoke with a lowered voice that didn't match the enthusiasm of her words. Assumpta knew she was being spun a line.

"Drink up." she said. "We're closing." And she stared the woman out until she picked up her hand bag and strolled nonchalantly towards the door.

"You're not supposed to drive the customers away deliberately!" commented Doctor Ryan, getting up as the door swung closed behind Carmel's retreating form.

Peter was already almost at the bar. "Problem?" he asked.

"Journalist" she replied, her voice heavy with meaning and looking him directly in the eye, "and she's got her eye on you."

* * *

Ten minutes later, the bar now cleared of customers and Peter felt the need to take Assumpta by the shoulders and frog march her into the kitchen.

"Calm down!" he remonstrated with her.

"Calm down? Calm down!? Peter, didn't you hear what I told you? The Enquirer, Peter! It's not exactly the Catholic Herald is it? That woman is going to ruin our lives! And this is only day one!"

"OK, OK. We'll deal with this, we'll come up with something. It's not as if she'd have any evidence, we haven't done anything yet."

"She doesn't need evidence, it's the tabloids, it's sell papers first, repent at leisure. She knew Peter, I don't know how. She asked if it was love at first sight."

Peter raised an interested eyebrow at that, clearly curious about the answer himself. Assumpta glared back. Then a thought occurred to him.

"Where on earth could she have got that story from? I mean, Father Mac is hardly likely to have broadcast it and I haven't told a soul, have you?"

"Not even Niamh."

"There's a chance some people have guessed, but she's not going to travel here on purpose because there's a rumour the priest fancies the publican is she? My guess is she's here for some reason, she came to the pub, she had a lucky guess."

"You're still wearing the damn suit. It's that collar, without it she'd never have known. Oh, what difference does it make? She's here now and probably pumping Miss Hendley for information this very minute!"

Peter reached up and loosened his collar, twisting his neck as he freed the white plastic tab from around his throat. He looked at it for a moment and then put it in her hands.

"I'm sorry. The suit goes, soon." And with one hand on her shoulder and the other tracing a path along her jawline, he leant his forehead against hers.

"We'll get through this. Even if we make the front page of every paper in Ireland. It's worth it. I love you."

They stayed there, breathing heavily for a long moment and Peter found his eyes drawn inexorably to her mouth. He could no longer remember why he wasn't supposed to do this and he seemed to be getting closer and closer to those lips, and then they said, with that intoxicating voice, "You know what happens next don't you?".

"What?"

"The door will open and it will be Father Mac, two parish Priests and a Bishop!"

There was a knock at the kitchen door. They leapt apart and stared at the opening door in horror and looking horribly guilty, like children with chocolate all around their mouths.

"Ah, sorry Assumpta..... hey, what's so funny? What?"

"Sorry Padraig, it's nothing, private joke."

"Hello Father, I didn't realise you were here." Padraig still looked quite disconcerted, and now he was looking a bit puzzled at the white clerical collar in Assumpta's hands.

"Er, yes Father, I believe I can get this stain out for you." Improvised Assumpta, rubbing at an imaginary smear with her fingernails.

"Oh, oh thanks. That is good news. Thank you."

"Doing your washing for you is she now?" said Padraig a little dubiously. "I thought they made those things out of plastic these days."

"What can I do for you Padraig?" said Assumpta, cutting short any further musings on Padraig's part.

"It's only, I sent you a customer, a woman, smartly dressed. You seen her?"

Peter and Assumpta exchanged a glance.

"Carmel Power?"

"The very one."

"_You _sent her?" Assumpta was both amazed and annoyed.

"Yes, well she needed somewhere to wait while I looked at her car, but thing is I can't get the parts until tomorrow and I also don't know where she is."

"I threw her out."

"What? Why?"

"None of your business."

Padraig knew when he was out of his depth. "Right you are. You'll let me know if you see her?" He turned and left.


	6. Chapter 6

"Padraig! Hang on a minute!" yelled Peter uselessly at the distant figure of the Irishman. He broke into an undignified trot as he called again. This time Padraig stopped and turned and waited for the breathless Priest to reach him.

"What can I do for you Father?" he asked in some puzzlement.

"The parts..." Peter gasped for air.

"The parts?" said Padraig, not following.

"For Carmel's car. Why can't you get them?"

Padraig looked affronted. "I'm a busy man, and I've a boy to look after. I can't work miracles Father, that's your department."

"No I mean," Peter gesticulated with his hands to clear the air of the misunderstanding "where are they? Could we... I, that is,.. get them for you?".

"Oh no Father, I couldn't ask you to do that, that's far beyond the call of duty."

"Where, Padraig?"

"They were out of stock in Cilldargan and Wicklow, I'll have to have them couriered from Dublin."

"I'll get them for you right now if you'll give me the details."

Padraig could tell he meant it, but was puzzled. He gave Peter a quizzical look for a long moment.

"Right you are then." He scrabbled for a dog-eared scrap of paper in his coat pocket. "I have the details right here as it happens." He handed them over.

"Thanks." said Peter gratefully, flashing him a smile and turning to leave.

"Ahem. You're that desperate to get her out of town? Or is this all part of the Priestly service these days?"

"Oh err, just tending to the needs of my parishioners!" called Peter over his shoulder and left before Padraig could interrogate him further.

Padraig watched him go. Shook his head and then headed home.

3 Months earlier...

"What's all the mystery?"

He'd followed her into the kitchen at Fitzgerald's. She'd not asked him to come.

"It's not my place to tell you." Said Niamh, evasively, she hoped.

"I'm your priest. If you can't confide in me…" He was doing his usual thing, being everyone's best friend, trying to catch up on events now he was back in town. Niamh found his banter and his humorous smile hard to resist, especially as she was bursting to talk to someone about what Assumpta had done. She elected to tell him without really telling him, so she wouldn't be breaking a confidence, technically.

"You remember Assumpta's old boyfriend Leo from college?" she started.

"The reporter who came to cover the election? What about him?" Peter asked, more of his attention on Kieran wriggling in Niamh's arms, perhaps, than what she was saying.

"He got married."

"Oh, who to?"

She looked at him, waiting for the penny to drop.

And then it did, for him.

"Assumpta?" He managed to say, as jarring pain took hold of him. He felt nauseous and it was all he could do to keep from breaking down. He half-heard Niamh, unburdening herself to him, but wanted nothing more than to be alone with his tormented thoughts.

And that was when the penny dropped for _her_. In the moment of silence after she had spoken she looked at him again and really saw him. Not as a Priest but as an ordinary man. And in that moment it was as if his wounded soul was visible in his face. There was no hiding it. Niamh's revelation had broken his heart. She had done it almost carelessly, not really anticipating the effect of her words. But she should have. She'd known really, suspected anyway, that he loved Assumpta. It just hadn't seemed real until now, like the impossibility of his acting on it had rendered it less valid somehow.

And now she felt ashamed and she couldn't look at him any longer, it felt like intruding on his private grief. The upset she had felt at Assumpta's actions, marrying without warning, in England, depriving her of the chance to be bridesmaid, suddenly felt small and silly and maybe a bit petty in the face of Peter's despair. As he briefly excused himself and left, she cradled Kieran in her arms and kissed his head, grateful for everything she had.

3 Months later...

"He's not here." said Assumpta to the unwelcome form of Father Mac as he closed the door of Fitzgerald's behind himself.

"Whoever do you mean?" replied the priest, coming to a standstill in the centre of the room, feigning ignorance.

She glared at him. "And we're closed."

"That's quite all right." said the infuriating clergyman, "It's you I've come to talk to.".

This was not good news. Assumpta was silent, looking at him expectantly but without offering encouragement.

"I'm sure you know what I want to talk to you about. So I won't insult your intelligence by making small talk."

"Well that's a relief." The sarcasm escaped from her pursed lips.

"He's a good Priest."

Assumpta laughed. "I know that. I'm just surprised to hear that _you_ do."

"Have you encouraged him to give up his vocation?"

"What?"

"Mrs McGarvey, if you care anything for this man and you have his best interests at heart, you must consider very carefully before you influence him in his decision and lead him to make a choice that you may one day both come to regret."

"How dare you?" Assumpta was fairly incandescent with rage by now. "How dare you come into my home and...and firstly, it's none of your damn business... and secondly, if you think for one moment that I would, or could, use my 'influence' to bring an end to Peter's clerical career, then you are sadly mistaken in me and in him!"

"Forgive me for saying so, Mrs McGarvey, but you _are Mrs_ McGarvey, you're no more free to marry than he is. And, in spite of this, it seems to be his... _fancy_ for you that is the main reason for his giving up a promising career and a genuinely deeply felt vocation. I am appealing to you and your better judgement, in the hope that you will do the right thing and let him come to a decision on his own and without reference to his expectations of a... _scandalous_ relationship with you."

It was hard to imagine how Father MacAnally could have angered Assumpta more and on so many levels. At each turn of phrase, she was ready with a new barbed comment had the old priest paused for breath. But, in the end, she was left deflated, with one distinct impression foremost in her mind.

"He hasn't been to see you today has he?"

Father Mac confirmed it. "No he has not."

"You're too late. The decision's made, or so he told me last night. He made it all on his own I might add."

He shot a piercing look at her, seeming to divine the truth of her words, and, finding it there, it was as if a wave of acceptance washed over him until he slumped slightly in defeat.

"I see. Then I've been wasting my breath."

She nodded.

He let out a sigh. "Then for both your sakes, I hope it turns out to be the right one."

He looked at her, almost sadly, and for once his hardened outer shell seemed to fall away, revealing something more human beneath. He looked old and world weary. "I will do everything that's in my power to help him. But he was never one to take the easiest path was he?"

She shook her head slightly.

"I'll see myself out."


	7. Chapter 7

"Father Clifford thinks temptation is a chocolate bar!" chortled Brian as he watched Niamh carrying Kieran through the doorway of his new Chinese restaurant. "Ah, Ms Power, this is my daughter and grandson just arriving, I'm sorry we'll have to wrap up the interview. You don't mind do you? Feel free to order some food, write a review, you know you want to!"

He got up from the table and set about taking Kieran from his mother's arms as Carmel expressed her thanks and left.

"What was that all about?" Asked Niamh.

"How's my little man today?" Said Brian to Kieran. "He's growing big and strong, yes he is!"

"Dad?" Niamh had that tone that said she wouldn't take no for an answer.

"Oh just some journalist. I hoped she'd write us a glowing review but she's more interested in your one up the road."

"Who?" she followed her father's glance. "Assumpta? Why?"

Brian just looked at her for a long moment. "You might want to warn her to watch herself. That's all I'm saying."

Niamh presented Brain with a bag of baby gear. "I'll be back for him later. Watch him for me." And she strode back out of the restaurant without so much as a backwards glance.

"Ah Niamh, c'mon! I'm working here!" Objected Brian uselessly to the closing door.

In the distance Niamh could see the form of Father Mac leaving Fitzgerald's and her sense of foreboding increased. By the time she reached the door he had driven away in his car. She tried the handle and found it locked. She knocked on the window.

"Assumpta, it's Niamh, let me in!"

Nothing happened.

"Assumpta, I know you're in there and I will just go and get my key..."

The door opened a crack.

"Niamh, it's not really a good time."

Niamh pushed her way in. "What's going on? There's a journalist asking questions, Father Mac... your crying." Niamh stopped mid flow, now really concerned.

"I'm not. I was just... chopping onions."

"Oh yeah? Father Mac helping in the kitchen was he?"

"Niamh, I'm OK, I just want to be left alone."

"No."

"No?"

"No I'm not leaving you alone until you tell me what is going on. I want the truth."

"It's none of your business!"

"None of my business? I'm your best friend, and you're clearly in some sort of trouble. I'm worried about you. Is it Leo, has he done something?... You've not gone bankrupt have you?"

"No, no, it's not Leo. And I'm not bankrupt. Not _yet_ anyway." conceded Assumpta, relenting a little.

"Then what?"

Assumpta looked down at her feet, then out of the street and sighed.

"I suppose you're going to find out sooner or later."

She locked the front door behind them.

"Come and sit in the kitchen. I think tea is called for. Or maybe something stronger..."

Tea was poured and Assumpta busied herself offering cake. Niamh looked at the enormous slice of death-by-chocolate on Assumpta's plate and remarked ,"It really must be bad, I've not seen you eat cake like that since my hardly-a-wedding-reception.".

Assumpta took an indulgent mouthful.

"Mmm. Believe me, I've been eating so much of this cake behind closed doors it's a wonder I'm not the size of a bus."

"And I thought you were just a social cake-eater! What else have you been keeping from me?"

Assumpta took a deep breath and looked at her friend. For some reason she found it hard to hold Niamh's penetrating gaze.

"I'm not sure where to start. It's not easy."

"The beginning?"

"The beginning. Well, do you remember telling me I only wanted the ones I couldn't have?"

And now Assumpta did meet Niamh's eye and it was a meaningful look.

Niamh's spoon hung halfway to her lips. She gaped as reality began to dawn. And then a look of horror began to crystallise.

"You didn't! Assumpta! He's a priest!"

"You think I don't know that? You think that fact hasn't dawned on me?"

"How could you?"

"Well I...I..."

"And what about Leo? Is that why he left?" A shocking thought suddenly occurred to Niamh. She dropped the spoon. "Did he catch you two...?"

"Now hang on a minute! No-one said anything about us doing anything! How could you think I would, that we would...?"

"Well I don't know what to think, the way you've been behaving lately. What _is_ going on then?"

Assumpta looked down at her fingers. "Peter and I..., Peter is leaving the priesthood." She looked briefly up at Niamh to gauge her reaction.

Niamh was still looking pretty horrified. After a long moment she found her voice and asked "For you?".

Assumpta chewed her lip. "Yes, for me. He loves me, apparently." She blushed and a small smile escaped, even under Niamh's disapproving gaze. "Though heaven knows why."

"Do you love him?"

Assumpta nodded slightly. "Yes, yes I do." And slowly she found the strength to look her friend in the eye. "Always have."

Niamh let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding. A sense of resignation took hold of her. "Oh God, Assumpta. He's the best priest we ever had!"

"Well I happen to think so."

"I know he loves _you_ though. You should have seen his face, the day I told him you'd got married."

"_You_ told him?"

"Sorry. He wheedled it out of me. He looked absolutely crushed. I felt awful."

"Well that explains his reaction a bit I suppose."

Niamh picked up her spoon and jabbed it in Assumpta's direction "You'd better not let him down or you'll have me to answer to."

"I won't let him down. This is different."

"Is that what you said to Leo? Because you _did _let him down."

"I know... I should never have married him."

"Then why did you?"

"I was confused. Struggling with my feelings for Peter and I thought it was hopeless. I wanted to move on. Make a new start. Get over him. I thought that being married to someone else would answer the 'will we or won't we' question once and for all and make things easier. But it just made things worse."

"And you never said a thing."

"What was I supposed to say? 'Oh Niamh, I think I'm falling in love with the curate.'?"

"And there was I setting you up with all the eligible men I could find! I feel so stupid."

"You meant well. I always knew that and I didn't want to be in love with Peter anyway. It wasn't as if he was available. He couldn't have been less available."

"So what happened?"

"I don't really know. He's been different since he got back this time. He's been all over the place, emotionally, but he finally told me how he felt, yesterday, and he's made his decision. He wants to be with me. Whatever it takes."

Niamh looked worried.

"You don't think it's just a reaction to his Mother's death do you?"

"I hope not. I don't know what I'll do if he changes his mind."

Assumpta began to look so distressed that Niamh reached out and took her hand. "I'm sure I'm wrong." She said.

They sat in silence for a minute. Then Niamh asked, "When I arrived, you were crying and Father Mac had just left. Did he say something to you?"

"Oh yeah, yeah he had a lot to say, but nothing I couldn't handle." She forced a smile.

"Why the tears then?"

"Oh, he said Peter hadn't been to see him this morning. I... I just got worried that he hasn't really made up his mind. But that's stupid. I trust him. I do."

"So where is he now, the lucky man?"

"Oh, he had some sort of plan for getting that journalist off our backs. He rushed off after Padraig."

"The same journalist who was at my Dad's? I didn't like the look of her. And she wants to expose you?"

"It looks that way."

"Well Dad didn't tell her anything. I heard him say that 'Father Clifford thinks temptation is a chocolate bar' or some such."

Assumpta managed a laugh. "Who'd've thought it? Brian Quigley my staunch defender! Ah, I bet the scandal would be bad for business! Next you'll be telling me Kathleen has given us her blessing."

Niamh smirked, "I doubt that somehow! But how did this journalist get hold of the story in the first place?"

"Lucky guess we think, either that or someone around here has mind-reading equipment."

Assumpta looked at her friend seriously and began again.

"Niamh, I'm really sorry. I'm not sure what all this means for Kieran's christening. I'm not sure Peter will be allowed to do it."

She watched Niamh apprehensively as evident disappointment played on her face. Niamh then made a brave face and said sorrowfully "Oh well, if he can't he can't. We'll just have to find another priest.".

"I'm sure he'll be really disappointed." said Assumpta gently "I'm sure he'll do everything he can, it's just whether Father Mac will let him,... and whether you still want him, knowing what you do."

"Oh we'll still want him. He's the one that brought us back together. Without him there'd be no Kieran!"

Assumpta smiled sadly. "He really was a good priest, wasn't he?"


	8. Chapter 8

3 months earlier...

The sun shone brightly as she made her way up the rise towards Peter's house. The brilliant light brought out the redness in her hair and the lush greenness of plant life growing all around, but she only had eyes for the black-clad man stooping under the bonnet of a small red car.

She wilfully ignored the thumping of her heart in her chest as she approached him. She was safely married, she reasoned, and had nothing to hope for or fear.

"Hiya" he said, briefly acknowledging her arrival. He shifted uncomfortably, a tall man working low down, and went back to what he was doing.

"We didn't really get a chance to talk back there." She began. Thinking of Peter's odd reaction to the news of her marriage. His "You couldn't have chosen a better man." rang in her ears. Had he meant it as pointedly as she imagined or was that just wishful thinking?

He didn't respond.

"How was your time away?" She tried again.

"It was OK thanks." Said Peter, without enthusiasm, into the car's engine.

"Good." She said brightly. "Niamh told me about this tournament thing, it's a great idea."

"It's a stupid idea. I don't know why I get involved. If people want to waste their lives squabbling with each other, who am I to spoil their fun?"

"You're a priest! Spoiling fun is your job." she joked, trying to lighten the mood, but he was having none of it, and continued fiddling around with the car.

"Yeah, right." He said flatly.

She tried another tack. "Come on, you're doing it because you care." She felt emboldened to praise him now she had a ring on her finger. "You're doing it because you care. You're good at bringing people together, helping them make sense of their lives. It was thanks to you I finally realised I need to sort out..."

"Please!" he interrupted. There was real distress in his voice and he paused in his work but still he avoided looking round. Being given the credit for bringing about her marriage was apparently too much for him. " No." He said quietly as he shook his head, refusing to hear any more.

Assumpta's ever-ready temper flared at his rudeness. "Peter, would you look at me when I'm talking to you?"

And now he looked around slowly and looked her straight in the eye. "Assumpta" he admonished.

His eyes betrayed the depth of his hurt. They were red-rimmed and tired looking but they were eloquent in ways that his tongue was not. They drew her in and spoke of loss and longing and reproach. They seemed at once to accuse her and be dazzled by her, to extend her a burning line of communication and to withdraw into bewildered vulnerability.

And then he turned away and she didn't know whether to feel aggrieved or relieved as her heart beat wildly and her chest rose and fell. Was he fighting back tears as he sucked in his own ragged breaths? The clarity of the moment fell away as rapidly as his gaze. She found herself wrestling with her own bewilderment and a sudden sense that she may have made a terrible mistake.

She found herself wanting to reach out and comfort him only to find he was further away from her than ever. She clutched at the straws of things she imagined she could offer him.

"I tell you what eh? We'll take all the tournament takings and put it towards the church roof."

"Thanks err, but there's nothing wrong with the church roof."

"Oh right, well err, maybe we could send Father Mac on a pilgrimage. Don't they have any shrines at Alaska?"

Peter's response was no better than a brief outward breath. His fingers were busy again, though they were probably achieving very little.

"Did you think Leo would be interested in being on the quiz team?" He began in a neutral tone as if the intensity of their shared look had never happened.

She was surprised and a little confused by the question. "Why don't you ask him yourself? Aren't you going to stay at our place?"

"Actually no, I've already made other arrangements."

She found herself dismayed to find he wouldn't be staying with them. She had imagined, naively, that by marrying Leo she was in some way complying with Peter's wishes, taking temptation, if indeed there was any on his side, out of his way. As a married woman she could keep his friendship, safeguard it, even, against the dangers of romantic expectation. The three of them would get along nicely and in time she would get over her hopeless love for him. That was the plan. It hadn't stopped her from feeling secretly pleased to hear he'd be staying at Fitzgerald's. She was still as hungry for his company as she'd ever been, more in fact, after the long separation.

And here he was shunning eye contact and giving her the cold shoulder treatment. She didn't believe he had somewhere else to stay for one second.

"Well, you're not going to stay in that thing are ya?" she asked him with a mixture of incredulity, irritation and concern.

"Why not, sacraments on wheels, twenty four hours a day." He countered petulantly. "Christenings, confessions... instant weddings."

And now he stopped even pretending to fix the car and leaned there, breathing hard, apparently trying to regain control over his wayward emotions. The real cause of his bad temper had been made absolutely plain to the woman watching him with wondering eyes.

Assumpta felt a thrill in spite of herself. But her undeniable gratification at finding that he cared was tempered by a mounting conviction that she'd misjudged the situation to a disastrous extent. Exasperation with his continually mixed signals and indignation at his general rudeness to her, added to the cocktail of sensations she felt at that moment.

She'd been on the receiving end of Peter's temper before, but never like this. She'd never felt so unwelcome. She took the hint.

"Right. See yer later."

"Yeah. Bye."

* * *

3 months later...

The little red car choked to a sputtering stop somewhere amid the rolling hills of County Wicklow. Ordinarily the stunning view would have been enough to make up for any irritation but on this occasion Peter wasn't in any mind to admire it.

He tried turning the key a few times, knowing each time that it was hopeless, got out of the car lifted the bonnet, and was greeted by a plume of smoke.

"Not good." He thought. He tried to wave it from his eyes but it seemed to be getting thicker. "Really, _really _not good." He muttered, stepping back and squinting away into the distance. Not a farm, nor a vehicle as far as his eye could see. Only the odd sheep, and not many of them.

The irony of having broken down on his way back from a mission to get parts for someone else's car was not lost on him. But the situation was too serious for him to derive much amusement from it. Those same parts were too heavy to contemplate walking home with. If only he'd kept the mobile phone he'd once had on approval.

If only Timmy hadn't let his beloved Javelin roll off a cliff.

He winced at the thought of its crumpled remains, upside down, never to be retrieved.

He stood leaning, for some time, against the Javelin's inferior replacement, wondering what on earth he should do and watching an ominous cloud creep over the rocky crags above him. If only he'd brought a waterproof.

Abruptly he turned, locked the car's doors and started walking.

* * *

Carmel power was becoming extremely frustrated with this town. For starters there really was nothing going on, not even a tea shop where she could at least have whiled away some time. She'd made herself unwelcome in the dingy pub, the Chinese would pester her for a review, the post office was shut in the afternoons. She'd already walked up to the church, it looked unremarkable to her, and the door was locked. There'd been no answer at the curate's house either, unsurprisingly.

The bus had taken her the few miles to Cilldargan, where she'd sought out the Parish Priest, only to be told he was visiting Ballykissangel. She'd wandered aimlessly through the centre of Cilldargan. No stories there either.

And so, when the Ballykissangel bus had drawn up nearby, she'd got on board.

Carmel had seen too much of Irish landscape to be impressed by the view. It was green, it rained mostly, what else was there to notice? Give her big city lights any day.

When the bus eventually arrived at its sleepy destination, Carmel went straight down to the mechanic's. She passed the tethered goat by the roadside and caught sight of Padraig, clad in blue overall's, cheerfully humming a tune as he tinkered under the bonnet of a car that wasn't hers.

"Does this mean my car is done?" Said Carmel without introduction.

Padraig bashed his head as he straightened up too quick.

"Ah Carmel, there y'are. I tried to find yer. Y'see the thing is, they didn't have the parts, not in Wicklow either,..".

Carmel sagged.

"...but I sent for them from Dublin!" continued Padraig, eager to make up for the bad news.

"Fantastic." Said Carmel with no enthusiasm. "And how long's that going to take?"

Padraig squinted at a clock high on a wall in the garage. He frowned slightly.

"Actually, I'd kind of expected him back by now."


	9. Chapter 9

"I'm not sure he really counts as a missing person when he's only been gone four hours Padraig. Maybe he stopped off to get some shopping on his way home."

Gard Ambrose Egan listened patiently as Padraig recounted how he'd rung his supplier and been told Peter had left, with the parts, two and a half hours ago and how Peter had seemed to be in something of a hurry.

"Yeah OK." said Ambrose, "I'll see what I can do. Why don't'cha send yer customer over to Assumpta's? Sure, she'll be glad of the business... Oh, no lights at all now is it? Oh well, I'm glad to hear she's closed then. Right, well I'll have a look for him. Thanks Padraig."

"What was that about?" Asked Niamh, Kieran in one arm, handing her husband a cup of tea and a biscuit with the other and feigning less interest than she felt.

"Oh just Padraig. Apparently he sent Father Clifford off to get some parts, and he's taking his time coming back and of course Padraig's all worked up because his customer's waiting. What's Padraig doing asking the priest in the first place? That's what I want to know!"

"Oh God!" said Niamh, as a sudden thought struck her.

"What?" asked Ambrose in some confusion.

"Oh, um, I think maybe I'd better just go and talk to Assumpta..."

"But you've only just come back from Assumpta's..."

"I know, sorry love, there's just something I forgot to, er, discuss with her. Can you take Kieran?"

"Niamh, I'm on duty!"

"Sure, you're only sitting at your desk, I won't be a minute."

"I am not! I'm on my way out to look for Father Clifford." Ambrose announced, suddenly deciding the missing curate was a case worth immediate investigation and leaping up full of efficiency.

"Oh all right, I'll take him with me." conceded Niamh. "Mind you bring Father Peter back safe and sound now!" she said over her shoulder as she headed up the stairs towards the front door and Fitzgerald's.

* * *

"I'll be with you in a minute" said Assumpta to Niamh, covering the telephone handset with her hand as she did so. "Next week?" She said, returning to the phone. "Oh no, no, no, I can't wait that long, I'm trying to run a business here, I have a christening to cater for. I can't do that without power... What d'you mean it's not an emergency? What do you have to do to qualify? Get electrocuted?... No? Well it wasn't meant to be funny. Can you be here tomorrow or not? I'll take my business elsewhere then. Goodbye."

Assumpta slammed down the phone.

"Sorry Niamh. Trying to sort out the electrics. What was it?"

Niamh shifted uncomfortably, unwilling to be the bearer of further bad tidings. "Have you heard from Fa... er Peter?" she tried apologetically.

"What, in the ten minutes since you were last here?" Assumpta narrowed her eyes. "What's going on?"

"Oh it's nothing to worry about I'm sure," protested Niamh, instantly increasing Assumpta's level of worry. "It's just, Padraig's reported him missing."

"Missing?"

"He was expecting him back by now that's all... you don't think, well, you don't think he's done a runner do you?"

"Well I do now!"

* * *

Kathleen Hendley stood watching the street outside her shop with keen attention. No sooner had Father MacAnally asked her to keep quiet about the goings on between the curate and Mrs McGarvey than she'd heard on the grapevine that there was a journalist in town. Coincidence? Kathleen didn't think so. But the church had nothing to fear from her, she knew her duty, unlike some people.

It had, in fact, been a dull day, leaving Kathleen plenty of time to mull over what she would say if she saw this journalist, so she'd been on the eager lookout for anyone she didn't recognise. She'd been told it was a woman, of course, but there was no telling how many journalists could be crawling the streets by now, especially if word had spread to _Mr_ McGarvey!

A few strangers had visited the shop, looking for cigarettes, chocolate bars, a pint of milk. Kathleen had eyed each one suspiciously, waiting for them to do something unusual, ask her a question, speak in an English accent perhaps, but none had. They'd only raised their eyebrows at the price, as everyone always did, paid up meekly under her severe gaze and left hurriedly, leaving Kathleen just a little disappointed.

When Carmel did eventually climb the steps to Hendley's front door, flicking raindrops from a smart black umbrella, Kathleen was no less vigilant. This woman looked out of place all right, no-one round BallyK wore shoes like that, nor that kind of suit, nor generally that kind of scowl.

The scowl was replaced by a friendly smile that didn't spread to the eyes as Carmel crossed the threshold. Kathleen didn't return it. Undeterred, Carmel wandered round the shop for a couple of minutes, pretending to be interested in the sandwiches and the postcards. "What a lovely little town this is," she began, "a real sense of community, so rare these days."

"Indeed." Said Kathleen stiffly. "And what brings you here I wonder?"

"Oh nothing really, I'm just passing through... I had the good fortune to meet the young Priest this morning, he must be well liked I imagine."

Kathleen congratulated herself inwardly on having judged this newcomer correctly. "If he is or if he isn't, what concern is it of yours?" she replied haughtily, looking down her nose.

Carmel was rather taken aback. "Well, err.." she began.

"Which paper is it you're with?"

Carmel straightened and swallowed, realising, with some surprise, that she was rumbled. She smiled a strained smile. "I'm with the Enquirer. But..."

"The Enquirer is it? I'll have you know, I don't stock your paper in my shop, I wouldn't want to be associated with anything so scandalous!"

Carmel goggled.

"And what's more, I think it's a disgrace!" continued Kathleen, "To think you'd come to a place like this and start digging around looking for who knows what, stirring up trouble. It's a wonder you can look at yourself in the mirror. You'll not be getting any quotes from me, that's for sure!"

Just then, Brendan Kearney appeared in the doorway, evidently having caught the end of Kathleen's little speech. He looked warily from one woman to the other. "Is everything all right Kathleen?" he asked in consternation.

"Fine, thank you Mr Kearney. This _lady _was just leaving." said Kathleen firmly.

Carmel glared at them both, stuffed the postcard she was holding back into the rack and exited the shop while Brendan looked quizzically after her.

Kathleen looked on with a sense of satisfaction clearly etched on her face.

* * *

Brendan had no success in pumping Kathleen for information. Try as he might, "My lips are sealed!" was all the shop keeper would say on the subject. So, he paid for his copy of _The Independent_, flashed her a considering glance and headed out into the poring rain.

The rain was heavy so he loped as quickly as he could, covering his head ineffectively with his newly bought paper, straight across the road to where Assumpta was emerging from behind a blue door. She was holding a box of sandwiches and a thermos flask and busied herself putting them in the back of her van as he approached.

"We're closed Brendan." She announced pre-emptively when she saw him coming.

"What? It's not that late is it?"

"I have no lights, the food's all gone off, and I'm in a hurry."

"Well then, put a few candles out, it'll be atmospheric! Put people in the mood for romance." He raised an eyebrow suggestively.

She ignored him.

"C'mon Assumpta, you can't leave me out in this, I'll catch my death, and you wouldn't want that on your conscience. Oh hello Niamh."

"Hello Brendan." Said Niamh from the doorway, a wriggling Kieran straining for release from her arms. "Would you ever persuade Assumpta she's not going out looking for Peter on her own?"

Brendan raised an eyebrow at Assumpta. "Peter? Why where is he?"

Assumpta was now opening the driver's door.

"He went on an errand for Padraig and never came back." Niamh explained, opening the passenger door, ready to get in.

"Niamh! You're not coming with me!" Exclaimed Assumpta, evidently not for the first time.

"Why not?"

"Well, you've got Kieran there for starters, and I don't have a car seat for him."

"Brendan, will you take your future Godson for a minute?" Niamh said, handing the squirming bundle over to a dazed Brendan. "And here's his things" she said, suddenly producing an enormous bag of baby equipment. "You can shelter in there till we get back, have my key."

Assumpta groaned into the steering wheel.

"Niamh! Assumpta!" Protested Brendan uselessly as Niamh disappeared into the van. He sighed. "Looks like it's just you and me little fellow." He said to Kieran as the blue van sped away.

* * *

There comes a point, as we all know, when you simply can't get any wetter.

Peter had long since reached this point.

A soaking wet curate's-suit, one size too small, is not a comfortable outfit in which to walk for miles and miles up and down a winding country road. Shoes that squelch with every step are no better.

It is also true that distances can be deceptive when one gets used to travelling by car. Peter was starting to realise just how deceptive.

He'd been encouraged by the sight of familiar landmarks into thinking he wasn't so far from home as he actually was. He had opted to keep on walking, rather than heading off the beaten track to some distant farmhouse that might have provided warmth and a telephone line. He was starting to regret the decision.

In the hours Peter had been walking, very few vehicles had passed him, most of them in the opposite direction, and the others hadn't liked the look of the bedraggled stranger and had sped on by. Peter sighed at the remembrance of another rainy day, another walk down another country road. On that day a blue van driven by a beautiful stranger had come to his rescue.

The memory was as fresh as if it were only yesterday. To him she had looked like she might have escaped from some Irish fairy story, she was too vibrant to belong to everyday life. It had seemed incongruous to find her in the driving seat of something as mundane as a blue van. He barely took his eyes off her as she talked, learning the contours of her face, the flashing light of her eyes, the warmth of her voice. Those first moments of their acquaintance had left an indelible mark on him that would never fade.

But back in the present there was no blue van in sight and light was beginning to fade.


	10. Chapter 10

"So what's the big emergency?" Siobhan asked Brendan as she entered Fitzgerald's darkened bar.

"He is!" replied Brendan, gesturing to the small boy currently dribbling on his jacket.

"Kieran? He looks OK to me. What's he doing here with you?"

"Niamh dumped him on me," hissed Brendan, as if worried that Kieran would overhear. "And I don't know when she's coming back."

"So what d'you need me for?"

Padraig, who was sitting further along the bar chimed in, "Brendan thinks our boy here might need a nappy change."

"Oh that's it is it?" said Siobhan, not at all pleased.

"Well we just thought..." began Brendan.

"_He_ just thought..." corrected Padraig.

"Well, you know, what with you being..."

"A woman?" supplied Siobhan.

"No, I didn't mean..."

"Pregnant?"

"Well..."

"I see." She made to leave again.

"I just thought you might find the practice useful," tried Brendan, wincing slightly.

"Oh, so you're not in need of the practice yourself?" said Siobhan, "Why don't you take him back to Ambrose why don't you?"

"Not there," said Padraig, "he's out looking for Father Clifford."

"Why? Where's he got to?"

"If we knew that, no-one would be looking." Padraig observed.

Siobhan turned back and found herself a stool to sit on. "Tell me more. I could do with a good yarn."

"See, Padraig here sent our favourite Padré off on a mission to get car parts." began Brendan.

"Why?" Asked Siobhan, looking at Padraig.

"He volunteered." answered Padraig, shrugging.

"He went straight off to Dublin in a hurry, by all accounts, and never came back." continued Brendan.

Siobhan frowned. "So what's all the fuss? He probably had some other errands to do up there."

"That's what I said, " said Brendan, "but Padraig here reckons Peter was desperate to get Padraig's customer out of town."

"Carmel." supplied Padraig.

"Carmel?"

"_Journalist_."

Siobhan raised an eyebrow and shared a knowing look with her two companions. "So where is this Carmel now?"

"I saw Miss Hendley kicking her out of her shop." remarked Brendan.

"And I took her off to Cilldargan for the night." said Padraig, "B&B".

"Good work that man." commented Brendan approvingly.

"So where's Assumpta?" asked Siobhan looking round the darkening bar.

"Went off looking for Peter too. Niamh insisted on going with her."

"Likes being a gooseberry does she?" said Siobhan with a wry smile.

"Or a chaperone." suggested Brendan.

Kieran began to cry. Siobhan gave him a sympathetic look. "What are we going to do with you eh? These two big eejits been neglecting you? C'mon then, lets see if we can't sort you out." And she took him away to do just that.

* * *

The rain was finally subsiding by the time Ambrose found the car. It was clearly without its driver but Ambrose shone a torch through the windows and got a clearer view of the precious car parts lying on the back seat.

He surveyed the landscape but couldn't see anyone. He pursed his lips.

* * *

The phone rang in Fitzgerald's.

"Shall we answer it?" asked Padraig.

Brendan sauntered over and picked up the receiver hesitantly. "Hello? Fitzgerald's" he said.

"Brendan?" came Ambrose's surprised voice from the other end of the line.

"Ambrose! What can I do for you? Have you found Peter yet?"

"No, I've found his car though. I take it he's not turned up down there?"

"Afraid not. Not that I know of anyway, I can phone around if you like."

"Thanks, that'd be a big help. Listen, you don't have Niamh there by any chance? Only she's not answering the phone at home."

"Ah, no she went off with Assumpta, they're on a rescue mission of their own. We've got Kieran though if you'd like to speak to him."

"Have you now? And who's '_we_' exactly may I ask?"

"Oh don't you worry. Me, Siobhan and Padraig'll take good care of him."

"You, Siobhan and Padraig?" Ambrose didn't sound reassured. "The bar's still closed though right?"

"Oh absolutely, it's a private party, just the 4 of us."

"You'd better not be having a lock-in with my son!"

"Ambrose I swear, not a drop of alcohol has passed my lips."

"Hmm," said Ambrose, "you'll give me a call if Father Clifford turns up yeah?"

"Absolutely."

"Right, I'd better get on with this search. Thanks Brendan."

"Good luck!"

* * *

Assumpta would always wonder if it was a sixth sense or a guardian angel that led her to pull over by the side of the clearing. Perhaps she felt the need to say a little prayer herself by the secluded shrine. But it was there that she found him, head in hands, sitting close to the statue of the Virgin Mary.

She gestured to Niamh, who was hovering uncertainly a short distance away, to go back to the van. After glancing at Peter, who was as yet unaware of them, Niamh nodded her agreement and left the two of them in the clearing alone.

As Assumpta stood watching him, the distant clouds began to part and the last of the evening light shone through in glorious beams of burning orange. While the heavens unveiled the spectacular light show, Assumpta had eyes only for the forlorn figure ahead of her.

"Peter," she said gently, unwilling to startle him, her voice catching in her throat.

He looked up and gazed at her in wonderment. She reminded him of an apparition, all bathed in golden light, or maybe the fairy queen he'd been bewitched by that day on the road. He rose and covered the space between them so that he could wrap his arms around her and be sure that she was real. He kissed her hair and murmured "Assumpta".

"You're soaking!" she said, into the wet folds of his shirt.

"Yeah, sorry," he said, releasing her slightly, but still keeping her close. "Didn't mean to make you wet too."

He put his hands on her shoulders, manoeuvred her and bent his head so he could take a good look at her face. He was startled to see she was fighting back tears.

"Assumpta?" His voice was full of concern. "Assumpta, look at me. What is it?"

With difficulty she raised her eyes to his and saw them full of warmth and care. "Tell me you haven't changed your mind." she choked out.

He cupped her cheek in his large hand and brushed away a stray tear with his thumb.

"Oh Assumpta, you didn't think...? Assumpta, I _love_ you and I'm not going anywhere... well, except perhaps home to get some dry clothes, but then I'm coming right back to you, and I always will, for the rest of our lives. I will _never_ change my mind."

Assumpta managed a small smile, shyly breaking away from his gaze. "What happened? Where've you been?"

"Car broke down."

"Ah."

"About ten miles that way."

"Ten?"

"Well, feels like it. I think I've warn the soles off these shoes."

"You must be frozen. Come on, I've got hot coffee and sandwiches in the van." She slipped her arm around his waist and began leading him back towards the road.

He smiled appreciatively. "Did I mention that I love you?"

"Once or twice, but I don't mind hearing it again."

"OK, maybe I'll mention it later." He said, rubbing her shoulder and grinning cheekily. He looked around him. "You know, this place always reminds me of you."

"Really? Why's that?"

"It's what you told me about the 'famous' statue: how it will never move, no matter how much drink you've taken..."

"What? That's not this one. That one's the other side of Glendalough,... much smaller statue. This one now, _this_ one is your bog standard moving statue, she'll be dancing a jig when your back is turned."

Peter frowned, "So this isn't the place we met that time?"

"Don't think so." She shook her head.

"Funny, I could have sworn it was. Oh well, everything I see reminds me of you these days I suppose."

Peter stiffened and stopped walking. "Assumpta, there's someone in your van."

"It's OK, it's Niamh, she insisted on coming with me... Peter, I had to tell her, about us."

Peter found he suddenly felt quite nervous. "Oh, OK..."

Assumpta took his hand in both of hers. She chuckled at the look on his face. "She won't bite!"

Peter swallowed as he saw Niamh clock them, and their clasped hands, and get out of the van's passenger seat.

"There you are Father, you've had everyone worried. My husband's out looking for you too."

"Is he? Well, thank you, all of you, I can't tell you how glad I am to see you!"

"That's all right Father, we'd hate to lose you. Car broke down did it?"

"Err yeah, how'd you guess?"

"It's not here and you two haven't fallen out."

His response was a slightly embarrassed nod and a lopsided grin.

Assumpta emerged from the back of the van holding the flask of coffee and a small towel.

"Here," she threw the towel over, "give your head a rub."

Peter smirked, "Déja vu," he commented. He rubbed his head. "Just about the first thing _she_ ever said to me," he told Niamh by way of explanation.

"Well, if you will keep going for long walks in the rain..." Assumpta remarked, pouring him a cup of coffee. He took it gratefully, giving her the kind of smile that always made her go weak at the knees. She went Pink. Niamh didn't know where to look.

"Mmm, coffee never tasted so good. Thanks Assumpta. Did you say there were sandwiches too?"

"Coming right up."

The headlights of a car came into view over the brow of the nearest hill and before long they were illuminating the little scene by the side of the blue van. The patrol car pulled up beside the curate and his rescuers, and Ambrose emerged from within.

"Niamh, Assumpta... " he acknowledged before finally noticing Peter enjoying a sandwich behind the van. "Father Peter! Well thank God for that! I found your abandoned car miles back. I came by this way on my way up, I must have missed you."

"Thanks Ambrose, sorry to have caused you all so much trouble."

"I assume the car broke down? You might want to do something about that thing, it's becoming a liability."

"Preaching to the converted..."

"I'd er, better give Brendan a ring, let him know we've found you."

Ambrose went back to his patrol car and used the car phone to pass on the good news.

Peter finished off his fourth sandwich and began to think longingly of a hot bath and dry clothes. The ones he was wearing were still wringing wet in places and hardening in others. His feet were throbbing too, now that the walking was over. He shifted from blistered foot to blistered foot and pulled his suit jacket tighter around himself, as if it would make him warmer.

Ambrose returned and offered Peter his own jacket. "Here, best not catch hypothermia if you can help it!"

"Thanks Ambrose, I owe you one. Well, I owe you several for this."

"That's OK, I have a vested interest. We need you fit and well for Saturday."

"Saturday?" Peter's mind was blank.

"Our son's christening?"

Peter went white. He'd forgotten. He looked at Assumpta in horror then looked back at Niamh and Ambrose. He was momentarily speechless.

Niamh looked uncomfortable. After a moment she took Ambrose's elbow and tugged him away. "C'mon, we'd better go and find Kieran before he runs off with Brendan."

Ambrose broke off from trying to read the unspoken conversation that was going on between the priest and the publican. "Yes, well who's fault is it that he's with that lot down the pub in the first place? You can't keep dumping him on people Niamh!"

"Brendan's not people, he's Kieran's Godfather...Will you excuse us Father?"

"Yeah, of course." replied Peter.

"That's not the point Niamh," admonished Ambrose as she led him away, "a bar is not a suitable place for babysitting..."

"Goodnight!" called Assumpta and Niamh waved cheerily as she opened the passenger door, apparently unconcerned about her husband's disapproval.

"Ambrose, you know very well I couldn't let Assumpta go out looking on her own. We might have lost both of them!" said Niamh inside the car. "Besides, there's more going on than you realise..."

Peter turned to Assumpta as the Egan's drove away, distress etched across his face. "I forgot about the christening!"

"I know," she said sympathetically, patting his chest, "but first things first, let's get you home."


	11. Chapter 11

_Apologies for the very, very long wait for this instalment. I will try to do better in future!_

* * *

"Assumpta and the Priest?" Ambrose sounded incredulous.

"Yes love."

"This is Assumpta Fitzgerald we're talking about here? The same Assumpta who wouldn't set foot in a church unless you paid her? That Assumpta?"

"How many other Assumpta's do we know, of course _that_ Assumpta."

"She's married!"

"Don't sound so shocked Ambrose. Don't tell me you hadn't noticed the... spark between them. Didn't your gardai instincts give you a clue?"

Ambrose was affronted. "Oh, so you knew all about this did you? Didn't think to mention what the Priest that's christening our child was up to..."

"No." Admitted Niamh sulkily. "She never told me a thing. And I'm supposed to be her best friend!" When sympathy from Ambrose was not forthcoming she continued "and anyway, it's not been '_going on_' for long. They only just talked about it."

"So what, he's just going to leave the priesthood, just like that?"

"So Assumpta says."

"But he's a Priest!"

"And your point is?"

"He made vows Niamh, he can't just leave."

"Says who?"

"Says me, and so does everybody else."

"Oh yeah, you going to tell him that are you?"

"I might just."

* * *

"Aaachew!"

"Bless you."

"That's my line."

"Not any more." Assumpta grinned. "There's some paper hankies in the glove box."

"Thanks."

Peter rummaged around in the glove box of the blue van and found what he was looking for. He took a tissue and wiped his nose.

"I don't know, maybe I could delay telling Father Mac until after the Christening," he pondered doubtfully.

"Ah." Assumpta grimaced. "I kinda already told him."

"What?" Peter's head shot round.

"Hey it not my fault!" said Assumpta defensively, "he barged into my bar and started lecturing me on how I was leading you astray. What was I supposed to say?"

Peter groaned and rubbed his face with his hands.

"Sorry," said Assumpta, grimacing "but look on the bright side..."

Peter looked doubtfully at her.

"He won't be your boss for very much longer!"

Peter half returned her hopeful smile and then turned to watch County Wicklow go by.

After a few minutes of companionable silence. Assumpta said, "Do you realise where we are now?"

"On the road to BallyK?"

"Well obviously, but, we just passed the spot where we first met."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Really?"

"Oh yes, I think of it every time I pass by. The day I picked up that soaking, but quite attractive, young man." She gave him a sly sideways look ,"and he turned out to be a soaking English Priest."

"Hmm. Sorry about that."

"Good job you had your civvies on, or I'd have left you there."

He smiled in response but said nothing. She looked at him again and asked "you OK? You seem a bit...".

"Yeah, yeah fine. Just a bit cold. Nothing some dry clothes won't fix. So, apart from my being, wet, English and a Priest, what kind of first impression did I make?"

"Tall..."

"Uh huh.."

"...and umm, I though you looked about twelve."

He huffed a laugh, "charming!" he said in mock offence.

"... for a priest..." she softened " ...and I thought Fr Mac would eat you alive."

"He might yet."

"Didn't think you'd last a week."

"Are you glad I did?"

"Weeell... there have been moments when I wished I'd never clapped eyes on you, but on the whole... how about you? Do you wish you'd gone straight back to Manchester when Fr Mac tried to send you?"

"Not in a million years."

He said it with such warmth that she temporarily took her eyes from the road and took a good look into his big green ones, brimming over with sincerity and affection. (Fortunately none of Eamonn's sheep happened to be wandering across the road at that moment, or they might have ended up with another number plate stuck to them, or worse.) She flushed scarlet and dragged her eyes away again trying to compose herself.

"I thought you were beautiful," said Peter.

"What?"

"When we first met. Beautiful and just a bit scary."

She chuckled. "Was I that bad?"

"'One thing we need is priests from England' you said and I wondered what on earth I'd got myself into."

They turned a bend and Ballykissangel appeared in view. Lights were flickering on in the half-light and the spire of St. Joseph's was silhouetted against the last embers of the sunset. The town resembled a sparkling jewel nestled in the rolling landscape and it took their breath's away.

The little blue van made the familiar journey down into the town and over the bridge towards a darkened Fitzgerald's. Peter shivered.

"You can drop me off here if you like."

"No chance. Not when you're in that state, and besides..."

"What?"

"You have electricity at your place."

"Fair enough."

They pulled up outside the curate's house, which was also dark – Brian must be out somewhere. Peter clambered out of Assumpta's van, looking warily about him.

"Still worried about the neighbours?" she asked, but she was glancing around herself as he let them in through his front door and turned on the lights.

She had been in his house before of course, even one memorably long night when they stayed up watching a baby together. She smiled at the thought. A golden memory. It never ceased to amaze her, though, just how sparse the house was kept. She looked around and saw a few things of Brian's scattered about. Then her eye fell on the bed linen folded neatly by the sofa.

"Peter, is he making you sleep down here?"

"Well, yeah, but..."

"He has no right!"

"It's his house," shrugged Peter, "anyway I'd er better go and..." he pointed upstairs, "...make yourself at home."

'Tea ' thought Assumpta, and went through to the kitchen to make a couple of cups for them both.

Peter came back down the stairs wearing jeans and his grey knitted jumper. His hair was still damp and unruly where he'd tried to dry it with a towel. He followed the sound of clattering to the kitchen and found Assumpta searching for teaspoons.

"Ah, they're over here," he said, gently placing a hand on her waist as he showed her.

She jumped slightly at his touch, but turned towards him and looked appraisingly at him. "That's better," she said, patting his chest, "no suit". She smiled up at him and he down at her. They were standing very close together and looking very pink. Tentatively she reached up and touched his damp hair and the side of his face. He closed his eyes and caught her hand in his own. He held it reverently like he had that memorable night at Kilna Shea. This time he brought it to his lips and kissed her fingers, like he had so wanted to that night. She caught her breath and leaned in closer, feeling intoxicated by the nearness and the realness of his lips on her skin.

He stiffened, turned away and... "aaachew!"

"Well that ruined the mood," she remarked dryly, "you OK?"

"Sorry, yeah," he said sheepishly, looking around for his hanky. "Kettle's boiling."

The front door opened and Brian let himself in. "Evening Father," he called "Father Mac's been looking for you."

"Hasn't everyone?" murmured Assumpta darkly.

"We're in here," called Peter to Brian, as Assumpta glowered.

"We?" replied Brian with interest, coming to see if "we" meant who he thought it did (it did). "Oh, hello Assumpta, I'll have an Earl Grey if you're making one."

Assumpta frowned at him. "We're not in the pub now, Brian, get your own damn..."

"Here," said Peter, handing Brian the cup she'd made for him. "I'll make another."

Assumpta rolled her eyes at him. "No you won't, give it here," she said, demanding he pass over the kettle.

"Thanks," he said, looking her in the eye and smiling in that way that always threatened to make her knees give way.

Brian watched all this shrewdly and remarked, "what a picture of domestic bliss. Speaking of which, I haven't seen much of your husband about here lately Assumpta. Chasing a big story is he?"

There was a clatter as Assumpta dropped Peter's tea cup. Sploshing boiling liquid over her hand.

"Brian!" admonished Peter, really quite angry, "that was uncalled for."

"What, what did I say?" replied Brian in mock innocence.

Assumpta was cursing and nursing her scalded hand, the one Peter had been kissing, it was now red and blotchy.

Ignoring Brian, Peter came to her and took her hand saying, "here, let me look... ouch, that looks sore. Better run it under the tap." And to Brian, "pleased with yourself?"

Brian, unmoved, looked at the pair of them. "I hope you know what you're doing. And...", he muttered under his breath as he left the room, "that you're not doing it in my house."


End file.
